Only One
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: They let the hot morning air filter in over them. Bright, bright, bright orangered basking their bodies and nothing was hidden. GSR. Total fluff.


Total fluff, beta'd by the lovely Lauren.

The fic came to be after listening to 'Only One' by Jeremy Kay, thus the title.

* * *

They let the hot morning air filter in over them. Bright, bright, bright orange-red basking their bodies and nothing was hidden.

And they sweat.

Quite a bit.

It was only their third time together, and yet, they fell in sync like old lovers. And if she were to describe it as anything, she would have used adjectives such as cathartic and carefree and awkward. Rolling and tossing and turning and kissing and sliding and everything.

Before that moment, sex had been something serious, something groundbreaking and intense. Every partner she'd had in the past she'd given one hundred and ten to, needing, needing to please them, not always wanting. It had always been dark, anxiety-ridden, everything hinging on orgasm.

Sara Sidle gave like no one gave, even if the receiving end didn't deserve it; lovemaking was lovemaking to her, and it was always supposed to be intense, extraordinary.

Every. Time.

But when the first three men failed to please her, failed to instill in her the flutter that they once had with a simple smile, she began to learn the mechanics of sex.

Stimulate until orgasm, dress, leave.

It was fun, it was free and she felt she was embracing the role of someone liberated. There were parties and she took men home and left them the next day. Not many, there weren't many, but enough for her to know that it wasn't what she wanted. Sara didn't want dominance without reciprocation; there was no longer to be giving without taking.

Once she graduated, she'd dated and dumped two men, learned the true meaning of cheating and had giving up until she'd secured for herself a real career.

And then came Gil Grissom and his imperfect smile and his glib remarks, his warm hands and piercing eyes and fuck it all she was hooked. Because he didn't fuck her, and didn't try to woo her.

Just the opposite.

Invites to museums he accepted, and likewise for lectures. Eating together was completely off limits. No coffee and no tea and nothing of that sort; that would constitute something else, he said.

But she stimulated his mind, he'd said, and it was the most honest compliment she'd ever received and like that, well, she was in love.

Stupid, unruly curly hair and meticulous notes and brown loafers with black pants; damn it, he was a disaster and she loved it all, wanted it all in her closet and her bed and her heart and she realized that she hadn't matured really, beyond high school and she didn't care all that much.

There was a brief flight and he was in Las Vegas and she was back in California and she was left wanting and he called her and asked her to take that same brief flight out to him and she said... yes. Not, "Fuck yes!" like she had wanted, like she had felt, but, "Yes."

After this was vague innuendo that set her heart racing, falling, quivering, resigning. Every emotion she had ever wanted to feel with a man had turned into a seven-year rollercoaster that took its ups and downs far too seriously.

In her dreams she envisioned him stroking her thigh and higher, higher, kissing the inside of her elbow, pulling her hair, yelling at her, having _her_ child more than once, cooking her breakfast and signing a lease on _their_home. Sara dreamed about him and damned if...

Damned if he didn't follow some sort of predictable pattern that she had forgotten to predict when he appeared on her doorstep, unshowered, smelling of earth and grime. "This is going to be about Nick," she said as she stepped back from the doorway to allow him in, willing to allow him to emotionally unloading about his CSI's abduction.

And yet he'd just moved ahead, said nothing, kissed her deeply and with one strong hand on her lower back, swept her up into him and the fault line shook, falling into the Pacific, leaving her with nowhere but Vegas, in his arms.

Goddamn it if he didn't spend four hours talking to her and kissing her and moving in her and redefining orgasm in twelve or thirteen different ways.

When they'd awoken, she'd made the move and kissed him, only a tiny bit reviled at the morning breath, but kissed him nonetheless and pressed his hips into the mattress with hers, taking only short minutes to remind herself how hot he was inside of her.

A few kisses to her sternum and a quick shower on his part and he was gone.

Though not before kissing her relentlessly for a good minute, informing her after that, "Oh, I, you, I, you know..."

Sara smiled and closed the door to a crack, "Be by after shift."

Giddy maybe, was how she was, but as she closed her locker and grabbed her bag, she felt in love and loved and over the moon, weightless, carefree and fantastic.

He was waiting for her on his doorstep, and after taking a precautionary glance around his yard for insane purposes, he swept her into his arms and licked her neck and pushed her up and inside his front door, onto the couch and blew a raspberry on her tummy. "Do you know how this makes me feel?" he asked, as he struggled to remove her jeans.

"Huh?" a giggle and a sigh and she fell against the hard leather.

He kissed her hips and pushed up her shirt, "I don't know, six, seven years, whatever, this much time without you has been forever."

Again, she laughed, pressing her hips up, so boney, so delectable... so... "You're not making any sense."

"Stop talking," he begged as he grunted and hefted her into his arms. After brief moment of silence, him sucking on her collarbone, "I retract that, speak."

Oh, there was nothing that could contain her laugh; she felt as though she were listening to every feel-good song from her youth. "Bedroom?" she questioned but didn't really, and yet he stumbled them both towards the hallway, eventually toppling them painfully onto the mattress.

They let the hot morning air filter in over them. Bright, bright, bright orange-red basking their bodies and nothing was hidden.

And they sweat.

Quite a bit.

His large hands were everywhere and her grunts were low and natural, like her voice.

When he pressed within her, all she did was combine a laugh and a sob and look up at him with innocent, shocked, amused eyes; it was too fun, too fun to be making love, but it was happening and it _was_ a spectacle, something ridiculously fun.

Sara bit a random trail of kisses on his neck as he thrust and when he came, she barked a tormented laugh and pulled him down to her, basking in the weight of his body.

He laughed afterwards, and so did she, both sleepy, wondering how much had changed.

"Should I be the one to leave this time?" she asked, already curling and occupying a side of the mattress, not meaning one word of her question.

He got up and hid her clothes anyway.

* * *

'Cause you're the only one  
That's ever moved me at all  
Played around and then I left you hanging on the wall  
You have always been the one  
To stimulate my mind  
When I'm around you I don't look  
I just find 


End file.
